Tequila Sunrise
by PaperFrames
Summary: Two broken hearts, twelve shots of tequila, and a night they won't forget. #Olitz always.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: A bit of writer's block on my other fics has led me here. No I am not starting another full blown story. What I am starting, however, is a solidly two part fic. Now, the second part might end up being five thousand words (it's already at 3,000 - for reference, that's about 8pgs) but it will only be two parts. Here's part I. Hopefully this heat will lead my boss to telling me to stay home again on Monday and part II will get done soon.

Thank Lizzo's Truth Hurts for this.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Every time Olivia closes her eyes, she is in pain. Each time her eyelids drop she's assaulted by an image she can't get out of her head. Her boyfriend. Her best friend. Her couch. HerboyfriendHerbestfriendHercouch… The tequila on her tongue tastes like fire, but that doesn't stop her from knocking back her third shot and tapping the bar top for another.

The bartender eyes her with a raised brow and shakes his head. "You're a very small woman and I don't want anyone passing out at my bar."

Olivia scoffs. "I could easily drink ten of these without batting a lash. Don't be a dick."

"Lady, I don't care if you tell me you could drop thirty of them, I'm not giving you another."

Hot anger ripples through her and she pushes away from the bar. Despite the fact that she's inhaled three shots in the matter of twenty minutes, her knees are all too sturdy and she is nowhere near drunk. Her eyes meet the bartender's and she sighs, deciding to change tactics. Flies and honey.

"Look, I'm having a really bad day, can I please just have another?" Olivia tries. Her hands curl against the countertop and she gives him the saddest look she can muster. It's not hard as the corners of her mouth drop down and she feels tears rise to the surface.

She and Jake have been together since her sophomore year of undergrad and she's now in her final year of law school. She and Simone have been friends longer.

"I'm sorry, but it's a hardline I draw, miss." He reaches for her empty shot glass, but Olivia's hand gets there first. She seizes it in her right hand and holds it up. Her eyes meet the bartender's. He cocks his bushy, fire red brows, as if to say _really?_ Tongue out, Olivia lets it slip from between her fingers. It hits the ground and splinters apart. She snatches her purse from the back of her stool and takes off.

Once outside she screams in frustration, batting the side of the building an open palm. The tears are immediate and her face is hot. She kicks at the brick, continues hitting it with her hands and lets out a low sob. Her hair curls against her temples in the mid summer's night heat. How stupid could she be? Something told her ages ago something had been going on between Jake and Simone.

"Boxing with a brick wall isn't exactly a good idea."

Olivia's stops mid swing. She looks down at her hands to see her palms are beat red and scratched. Tiny bits of brick stick to her palm. She looks over at the sound of the voice to find a somewhat familiar looking stranger staring at her. He wavered in the bar entrance door, the neon light of the bar sign bouncing off his dirty blonde hair.

"If people could mind their own business tonight instead of mine, that'd be really great." She shoots back, pivoting on her heels and leaning against the wall. If she's going to cry and rage, she wants to do it in peace. She can't fall to pieces in the presence of a stranger. No matter how familiar he looks. "Just keep walking."

And he does, but instead of heading into the bar, he takes a few steps towards Olivia.

"Hey, do I know you?" he asks as he comes to a halt next to her. He leans against the wall and hits something against his palms for a few seconds.

Olivia watches in curiosity, eyes following his hands before she realizes he's packing cigarettes. A lighter flickers and then he takes a drag. The smell of sulfur cracks the air and Olivia crinkles her nose. He slips the pack of cigarettes back into his jeans pocket.

"You're Jake's girlfriend. Right?"

A sudden burst of anger blooms in her chest at Jake's name. She cuts her eyes to the stranger now next to her and scoffs, pushing away from the brick with her arms now folded across her chest. "And who the hell are you?"

The stranger holds his arms up. "Hey, I didn't mean any harm. My name's Fitz. Fitzgerald Grant. I work with Jake at Jones and Day. You were at our New Year's party. You seem like you're in distress and I just want to be a listening ear."

Olivia sizes up Fitzgerald Grant. Her eyes wash over his face, down his body. She remembers him. He'd been at the party with his wife. What was her name? Melanie? Melody? Whatever it had been, the woman had looked like a Norman Rockwell painting; perfectly coiffed her, a perfect red lip. In all honesty, Olivia had found it to be a bit pretentious. She'd even dragged her feet a great deal before Jake managed to talk her into going to talk to the couple with him.

Her shoulders relax slightly and she feels a hot tear slip down her cheek. She quickly reaches up to wipe it away, hoping beyond belief that Fitz hadn't seen it. "I'm fine."

"You say that, but that tear tells me otherwise." He holds his cigarette between his fingers and brings it to his lips.

Olivia's eyes follow and she thinks back to New Years, to six months ago when she'd met the man now in front of her. He'd been sneaking a cigarette outside when she and Jake had made a break for it. When Fitz had seen them he'd hurriedly butted his cigarette and sheepishly begged them not to tell his wife because he was 'quitting.'

"Your wife know you're smoking still?" she hits him with, hand on her hip.

He chuckles and works his free hand over his jaw. "I don't know, but something tells me she probably doesn't care."

"I beg to differ," Olivia starts, but then her eyes catch his left hand and she notices his wedding band is gone and while the sun's setting, it's still light enough out to notice there aren't any tan lines. His wedding band's been off for some time. Still, Olivia doesn't back down. She pops her hip out and waits for a response, hoping that she's pushed a button that'll send him running inside and out of her business.

But it doesn't. Fitz flicks his cigarette and folds his arms across his chest. "I don't think her boyfriend would. Actually, I think after they had sex in our bed, he lit one of _my_ cigarettes. The ones I had tucked into my nightstand to hide them from her." Something between a smile and grimace falls across his face.

Olivia bites down on her bottom lip and she feels her spine loosening, shoulders slacking. Well, now she feels like shit even more than five minutes before. The bar door opens and loud music fills the air. A couple speeds past them, giggling and laughing. She sighs and tucks a fly away strand of hair behind her ear. Any fight in her deflates and she finds herself posting up against the wall next to Fitz once more.

"Jake's fucking my best friend." She confesses. If anyone is going to understand the pain she's in right now, it'll probably be the man next to her. "I caught them. On our couch. In our apartment. I came home early to tell him that I got an offer from Schultz and Kit and there he was; ass in the air, dick in my friend."

Fitz nods. "Want to go inside. Grab a drink or thirty and forget about it?"

"I was trying, but three shots in and Officer Buzz-kill in there cut me off."

"Yeah, Evan is good for that. He's very into the whole counselor side of the bartender bit." He turns and leans his head against the brick. "Wanna get out of here? Go celebrate your new job even though it's at a competing firm?"

Olivia turns to face him. His slate eyes catch her attention immediately and for some reason she leans a little too close. Her heart is currently in pieces; sharp shards threaten to split her chest open, but what reason does she have to say no? Fitz isn't a bad looking man. Actually, it's quite the opposite now that she's facing him, her eyes roaming over his broad torso, the navy polo stretched tightly over his chest. Plus, she'd had every intention on celebrating before her big day had turned into her worst nightmare.

/

When he'd set out for Jack Diamond's earlier that night, he never thought he'd find himself here, sandwiched into an undergrad dive with a woman he's had several explicit dreams about. She's always been off limits, though, and months ago so had he but… now.

He blinks those thoughts away as she drunkenly shoves another shot glass into his hand. The music's too loud, the bass too heavy, and there are university students everywhere, but one look at the smile on his face encourages him to toss the shot glass back. He's going to pay for this in the morning; he's thirty-seven, not twenty-one.

"We both need some water next!" he shouts over the music.

"What?" Olivia yells back.

He leans over, cupping a hand over her ear so that she hear him. "Water!"

"Yeah, we probably should. Five shots of tequila is nearing my limit is kinda a lot…" She throws her head back and laughs as if what she's just said is the funniest thing in the world. Fitz's eyes follow the smooth column of her neck, down to the cleavage that spills out from beneath the V-neck, thin, white cotton t-shirt she wears.

Fitz taps the bar top as Olivia falls forward, into his shoulder. She sets her shot glass down and grabs his bicep to steady herself. "Can I get two waters?" he asks.

The bartender nods and makes quick work of Fitz's order. He sets two glasses of ice water on the counter and then disappears to the other side of the bar.

Fitz hands Olivia one of the glasses and nods to a couple vacating a both feet from them. They make their way over before the seats can be snagged with Olivia holding tight to his arm the entire walk. She's been a good sport, pretending since they walked into the bar an hour or so ago that she's unbothered by the news she's shared. News that hadn't really surprised Fitz who'd noticed Jake's roaming eye nearly a year prior, when the younger man had been hired.

"To Jake and to Simone and to…" Olivia starts as she slides into the both. She holds the water glass up, "to cheaters. Your wife, my boyfriend. My best friend…you know, Simone and I have been friends since we were fifteen. She was the weird new girl that no one else wanted to be friends with. I was so happy when she moved to D.C…I introduced her to Jake."

Fitz reaches for the water glass that tilts a little too far to the left, barely managing to catch it in time. He brings the glass down. Her eyes are sad again and it makes his heart hurt.

"I should've stabbed them both, but noooo, I backpedaled it out of there. My apartment. I left _my_ apartment!"

He grimaces at the visual. "You don't mean that. It wouldn't have been worth it in the long run. At all."

"When you found your wife and her boyfriend…did you ever ask why?" Olivia questions. She reaches across the table, grabbing his free hand, the one curled against the plywood table.

He squeezes her hand back. "Don't . . . don't ask why, Livvie. It'll drive you crazy."

She nods. "Livvie…only my mom calls me Livvie."

"Olivia," he amends, moving to let go of her hand, but her grip tightens.

"No, no. Please call me Livvie. It just kinda caught me off guard. Do you…you wanna dance? Burn off some tequila?"

Fitz's eyes sweep towards the tiny dance space. He watches as undergrads of various sizes, shapes, and colors pack together, bodies gyrating to and fro to a heavy beat. He doesn't recognize the song, but thinks he's heard it before, probably coming from his thirteen year old daughter's phone ages ago.

"I-I don't know about that. I'm…I've got two left feet and no rhythm and I…"

"For me? I'm celebrating, remember?" she pouts, bottom lip hanging out and Fitz feels his dick jump in his pants. She's intoxicated and intoxicating; he yells at himself to keep it cool. He's had the same amount of drinks as she, but he has at least sixty pounds and probably a full mean on her.

"Fine, but when those kids start laughing at us, it's your fault."

She smiles wide and scurries out of their booth, pulling on his hand.

"But drink that water first…" he nods to her full glass.

Olivia's eyes roll, but nonetheless she lets go of his hand and reaches across the table. He seizes his glass and tilts it back, but pauses, watching in amazement as Olivia slams the entire glass in seconds. He'd expected her to struggle through it or drink half and stop, but…wow. He eyes fall to her throat as she sets the glass down and throws him a mischievous smile.

Well, fuck.

"Coming?" she asks as she takes a few steps away from him.

Fitz nods, slamming his own glass and taking off after her. They find a semi empty spot near a corner and Olivia hooks her fingers in his belt loops. She pulls him close, hips swinging side to side. She catches the beat easily, but Fitz struggles. He feels far too old to be out here and the placement of her hands leaves him fighting to keep it together. He hasn't been laid in months – five to be exact.

"Relax, I don't bite. Come closer," Olivia insists, drawing her to him. Her chest brushes against his and she turns around abruptly, pressing her ass into his groin. She slides down his body and then back up again and Fitz is amazed by how steady she is on her feet for someone who's has six shots tucked beneath her belt.

Once more, Fitz's dick jumps. He's been trying and fighting hard to be a gentleman tonight. She doesn't have to say it, but Jake and her hopefully former friend's betrayal is burning her from the inside out. And he refuses to take advantage of that. He's been in her spot and even though tequila's fogged up his brain, he still remembers the pain.

"Livvie…" His hands hold her hips as he tries to put some distance between them.

Olivia's hands slide over his and she drags them around her body, up her stomach, closing the distance he's tried to put between them.

His eyes slip closed and he groans as her butt presses into his crotch, over and over. He tries all the old tricks from teen hood to stop his mind from running wild. He thinks of his great grandmother's pantyhose slipping down her swollen ankles. He runs baseball stats over in his head. He thinks of his daughter and that time that she Exorcist vomited.

And it doesn't exactly work. Olivia's head falls back against his chest and she hikes his hands up hire, until they're skimming her breasts.

He pulls back, immediately regretting his decision when Olivia almost falls. He catches her just in time and she giggles as he helps her back to her toes.

Once more, she has a mischievous smile on her face and glint in her eyes. She slips a hand into his and leads him out of the bar.

The night air is cool on his face and he's having a _really_ hard time walking with his dick nice and hard between his legs. He doesn't have much time to think about how he's going to get his erection to go away, either, because Olivia jumps into his arms. Her mouth is on his and her fingers yank at his hair. She bites on his bottom lip, draws it into her mouth and all he can do is respond. He spins her, backs her against the nearest wall and ignores the hoots and whistles from the stragglers standing outside the bar. One hand reaches up to cup her jaw and the other slides down her body, to her hip and he drags her against him until there's no such thing as space. She tastes like tequila, salt, and sadness, but damn it if he doesn't want to taste more. He kisses her back, snaking his tongue into her mouth and stroking hers, over and over again until he hears her moan.

This is wrong, wrong, _wrong_. _So wrong_. But God does it feel right.

They break apart after a few second later, both of their chests heaving as they fight to breath. Fitz's forehead falls against hers and he fights to find some clarity; something in him that will take a step back and focus in on her hurt and not the way his dick thinks it'll feel between her legs.

"Livvie…" he chokes out. "Liv, we should—"

She cuts him off, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. Her hips jerk upwards and she presses against his erection. "Take me home, Fitz. Make me feel good…"

"You don't—"

"Please. Fuck me until I forget…"


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: _So, I write when I can. There's no way around it. I have a lot on my plate. Including a final thesis as I come to the conclusion of my Master program - a program that is writing and creative intensive. I'm often burnt out when I've submitted page 90 of the first round of edits to my work so I don't always want to turn on my computer and write more. I love y'all and am thankful for each reader, but please understand I'm busy. I have not forgotten anything or one, and I write when I can.

Now, for this. To the person who asked ages ago if I know Jones Day is an actual firm and that it isn't Jones & Day. I do know. My best friend is one of their attorneys. I just chose Jones _&_ Day to play off of that. This was originally meant to be apart of the first chapter, but I cut it. I'm publishing it now bc I just feel like I need to publish something. The FF Scandal world has been in disarray as of late and I wanted y'all to know I was still around.

We not talking chapter numbers because the best laid plans..._le sigh._

Hope you enjoy.

-_M_

* * *

_This isn't my apartment. _

It's the first thought Olivia can muster as her eyes open. The bed feels foreign and so does the sea side décor. The pastel blue walls and glass windows are definitely not hers. And neither is the cover she holds to her chest or the framed black and white portrait of a little girl she doesn't recognize in between blurry glances. Her head is going to break apart. The pounding starts at the base of her skull and travels up until it shoots left and right across her forehead in sharp, pointed spurts. A wave of dizziness coupled with nausea washes over her and she bolts upward, in search of a bathroom. Bare feet hit a plush carpet and then connect with something semi solid and fury.

A low howl scares her and she jumps back onto the bed. She covers her mouth with her right hand and steadies herself with the left, afraid of what the somersaults her stomach is turning might produce. Another disgruntled bark is followed by a low whine and Olivia looks over the side of the bed to find a golden retriever, tail wagging furiously. The dog barks again and Olivia shrinks back on the bed.

_Lord, please don't let me puke_.

She throws up the hail Mary and catches sight of her knee. Her _bare_ knee. A cold chill zips down her spine and her the pounding of her heart matches the pounding in her head. She glances down to find the word NAVY scrawled across her chest. She's drowning in a men's gray NAVY t-shirt.

What the hell did she do last night?

Just then the bedroom door opens and the dog stops barking instantly.

"Come on Jasper; hush or you're going to wake her!" A man enters the room. He's covered in sweat. The white t-shirt draped over his body clings to him and he carries a water bottle. His shorts hang low on his hips and wireless headphones hang from his neck.

The pup's tail slows to a halt and he lays down.

"Good boy. Now – oh you're awake. How are you feeling? Do you need to throw up again?"

_Again? _

The look of utter confusion that crosses her face must spark something in this man's brain because he nods.

"Yeah, you were pretty out of it last night. Well your clothes should be dry if you want them. And I promise I didn't…my house keeper Rosita helped you change."

Olivia doesn't say anything, she just tugs at the hem of the t-shirt she assumes belongs to the man in front of her.

"Shit, are you about to throw up?"

Quickly she shakes her head, realizing that the nausea has faded and there's no longer a need to hold a hand over her mouth. Her hand drops to the bed and she fights to find the right words to say. Especially since his face isn't jogging anything in her brain. At least nothing concrete. He doesn't look completely like a stranger. Goddamn how much had she to drink?

"Olivia, are you okay? I mean, I know you aren't but…"

"Who are you?" she blurts out, fingers coiled around the hem of her shirt.

He chuckles, running a hand across his chin. "Good one. Are you okay?"

She stays still, eyes wide with fright. Not because she thinks he'll hurt her, but because she's never been in a situation like this. She's unnerved, confused, and the pounding won't stop.

"Okay, you're not. Okay. Uhm," he raises his hands so that they're in front of him, palms facing her. "I'm Fitz, remember?"

She shakes her head no.

"We met at the bar last night. You were beating up the wall?"

Again, no.

"Right…I work with Jake."

Olivia's eyes narrow at the mention of Jake. Unfortunately for her, _that_ memory is still intact. "That doesn't answer how I'm in your bed with only a shirt on. Did we…"

He shakes his head no, cheeks brightening. "No."

She stares at his features, watching as the red rippled across his face, searching for an inclination that he wasn't being truthful. She didn't feel like she'd had sex the night before. And while she wasn't going to check her panties while he stood in front of her, she could feel that she had them on. Nothing seemed out of sorts. But why couldn't she remember him? His smile? Those eyes? What was it…why couldn't she remember?

Or did she not want to remember? The fact that she was wearing his shirt and not after they'd had sex was a red flag. Had she thrown up on him? She had, hadn't she? Shit. What if they'd been in the middle of going at it and she'd throw up on him? The more she pondered what her mind didn't seem ready to bring back, the less she wanted to remember it.

"You really don't remember?" He asked.

Olivia bit down on her lip and shook her head. "I'm sorry. The last thing I remember is talking to some guy over his cigarettes about his crappy wife and my –" a bell goes off in her head. He's the guy. Okay, that still doesn't explain how she got here. In his house. In his house that over looked the Potomac. She could see it as she cast her glance sideways. Wow. "That was you, wasn't it?"

Fitz nods. "It was. And she's my ex-wife." He holds up his barren ring finger. His water bottle still dangles from the other hand.

She cringes.

"I was the one who asked for the divorce. Not her. How's your head feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a train and scraped back together again. My head is going to break in half and I don't know why I'm telling you all of this." She marvels at her comfort levels. She should be more fearful than she is. This man is a stranger and she can't remember what their night consisted of and yet; she feels safe.

"I think after last night, you could share anything with me."

Olivia's brows knot together.

"Right, you can't remember. How about I grab you some dry toast, something for that headache and you're welcomed to a shower." He jerks his head behind him to a door Olivia hadn't seen on waking. It's partially cracked. "I think my daughter might have something that fits you if you don't want to put your clothes back on. Then maybe we can talk about last night?"

Teeth sink into her bottom lip and she has to stop herself from visibly cringing. What the hell was last night? "I'd like that."

-x-

Two Tylenol, one Motrin, a hot shower, and about forty glasses of water later, Olivia pads around the too large riverside abode. She's dressed in a pair of flowy PJ pants that belong to Fitz's daughter and his Navy t-shirt. There'd be no salvaging her hair thanks to a night without a scarf. She'd tried best she could to tamper the frizz with his lack of products, but alas it wasn't much.

The house was gorgeous; head to toe windows that opened to a large backyard with a pool. Past the pool was a pathway that led down to a dock. A boat sat at the edge. Jesus, this man was loaded. A house like this off the Potomac easily ran in the millions.

She finally finds her way into the industrial sized kitchen. Stainless steel appliances catch her eyes, as does the long island and overhead lights. A breakfast nook table sits in front of the double large windows that also look out onto the water. Fitz sits at one, a fresh t-shirt and a pair of sweats on. He smiles as he sees her.

"Hi." He offers.

"Hi," she replies. The headache is now a dull stabbing at her temples that she's almost able to ignore. She takes the seat opposite him and gives him a small smile.

"You feeling better?"

Olivia shrugs. "I can remember us getting to Jack Diamond's, but nothing after that."

"You knocked back about six shots of tequila, so I'm not surprised."

Her eyes widen and she slaps a hand to her eyes, embarrassed.

"What'd I do, pass out in the bar and you brought me here?"

He looks off easy and tugs at the neck of his shirt. "Not exactly. You, uhm, you suggested we come back here. We kissed and you…"

She slots her fingers open, waiting to hear what other idiotic thing she's done, but he stops. Heat in her cheeks she hates to ask, but knows she must. "Okay, I kissed you and…"

"We kissed. I very much so wanted to kiss you, too, but I didn't feel like I should since you'd had a bit more than me to drink…"

She's still piecing together her night and what her brain supplies isn't helping. "Did I throw up on you after that? Is that why your housekeeper changed me and I ended up here?"

He shakes his head again. "No…you…"

"My imagination is making things so much worse. Please just tell me, Fitz."

"You asked me to fuck you. Rather loudly and repeatedly."

Her head drops to the table to hide the red in her cheeks. "Go on…" she says, her voice muffled by her arms. "Please."

"Well, I knew you there was no way possible we'd have sex. You were far too inebriated to consent and that's just not me. So I got you back here and you started nosing through my things. Played some music and got maybe two steps into your very own strip routine when the tequila came up."

Olivia's entire body cringed. Once at the mentioned of asking him to fuck her and a second at learning she'd thrown up. She'd never been a real party girl on either facets. In fact, she'd only ever been with one man. How she'd ever fixed her lips to ask the man in front of her to fuck her, she didn't know. Not that she didn't want to fuck him. Even in her hangover addled brain, she's certain he's a fox. Fine on all occasions. But why did they have to meet like this?

Like this? Shit. Jake. Simone. Her apartment.

The images were back, bouncing off her brain as she thought of why she'd gone to the bar in the first place. Them. Her couch. Her heart.

She sniffles and sits up, her dry throat tightening under the promise of tears. "Whatever I threw up on, I'll pay for."

"It's okay. As you can see, I'm not hurting for money."

"You've been too kind to me. I'm sorry for…all of this."

"Don't be. I'm just glad I was there last night. Speaking of…" he stands up and crosses his kitchen, to the opposite end. He grabs something off the counter and seconds later he's standing in front of her again, hand out.

Olivia's eyes catch her shattered phone. A picture of she and Jake stare at her through the cracks and her battery is on 30%. The screen informs her that she has thirteen missed calls and sixty-seven missed text messages. She reaches out to grab the phone when it rings again.

Jake.

Anger seizes Olivia's body and she reaches out, grabbing the phone and hurling it to the ground.

"Well, I think you know how your phone ended up looking that way."

Horror crosses Olivia's face at her actions and she hurries to her feet to pick up the pieces as another woman, a small woman wearing an apron, runs into the kitchen.

"I'll get that cleaned up, Mr. Grant," the woman says as she rushes for the phone pieces.

"No you won't," Olivia says as she begins to pick up the pieces. "I'm sorry. You bring me into your home and I throw up on you and now I throw things in your place and…" she runs out of steam as tears wet her cheeks. She wipes at her nose with the back of her hand.

"Rosita, you're okay." Fitz says. He waves a hand to dismiss the woman who shuffles for a moment before taking off.

Olivia sighs heavily. "I must look real stable crying and throwing up over my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. I don't even know what we are. I…shit, he was. I gave him everything. He's the only man I've ever even been with and how does he repay me?"

-x-

Fitz's heart wrenches in his chest as he takes the broken pieces of phone out of her hands. He sets them down on the floor and smiles solemnly at her confession. "Stop apologizing to me," he tells her, sliding an arm underneath her legs and lifting her into his arms.

"Where are you carrying me? What are you doing?" Olivia asks, squirming.

"Getting you away from this broken glass with your bare feet."

She stops moving.

"Do you want to spend the day with me?" he asks as he sets her down, next to the chair she'd vacated moments ago.

"What?" She looks up at him with wide brown eyes that make his knees weak. God why hadn't he given her what she wanted last night?

Because that isn't him. It would never be. And he's been her, he's been right where she is. He knows how she's feeling and he knows that since meeting her – truly meeting her the night before – that he has a strong urge to take care of her.

"I can take you home and you can deal with whatever he wants," his head jerks towards the phone pieces. "Or we can spend the day making you forget – the right way."

"I'd like that."


End file.
